refugees

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(slam poem, meant to be performed out loud)    Too often, their eyes glaze over. Mine did too, before, before I stood in front of the burning bush and begged God to reconsider.
Dear Government, Thank you for protecting usIn times of need,But really, can you describe yourself as marvelous?If that’s your only good deed?Power,You possess itYou grasp it With every fiber of your existenceYou abuse it Twist it and turn it arou
Before, I was in love with a boy He kissed me when he wanted And reminded me how beautiful I was “Because I love you,” he would tell me
Toes curl below ragged skirts,  her eager eyes lit with meager heat,  a single match.  Visions of food, of shelter, of home  all she wants diners devour meat  girl devours sight 
Being myself is so hard sometimes. I am a muslim woman. I am also a vietnamese woman. I am a bisexual Vietnamese muslim woman. I am part of the first generation in my family born outside of Vietnam.
Twenty one point three. Twenty one point three million. Twenty one point three million refugees Half of which aren’t even eighteen, Forced from home simply because,
Surely there’s more to life than this Surely there’s more to life than to grow up, to wake up only to feel the need to resist I hear the constant string of yelling, I hear the crowds rebellingI hear cries of children as their homes are blown, I he
Full to the ceiling Parents and children alike Some get sick Some get stuck Harvesting tobacco They were bought with guns Full to the ceiling Parents and children alike Some are rich
America the beautiful Where does your beauty lie? Is it only surface deep Like makeup used to cover scars that pierce inside? And Mother Liberty, You turn away refugees
America How could you? I trusted you, I believed  in you, And now with every passing day I weep As this once great nation is now in shambles.   How could we stray so far
At a time when unity is never been more necessary, We put our trust and country into regressionary Actions that will “Make America Great Again!” But many left questioning, “What if we are not white?”
Being born on US soil means your life has more value Hate special snowflakes, unless it’s Matthew One life is worth more than 80,000 so long as it’s Christian
We are of hypocrites made, Our too familiar tales of  huddled masses and nations fled for  futures bright across the Atlantic's broad blue wings in hopes that stability might soon ignite
We are of hypocrites made, Our too familiar tales of  huddled masses and nations fled for  futures bright across the Atlantic's broad blue wings in hopes that stabilitiy might soon ignite
The once smooth sandstone walls,Now withered with bullet holes, Concrete structures in ruins,A grey ash covering the ground like snow. The streets that once thronged with life,Now silent, stripped like a flesh from a skeleton.Left of the marketpla
This is for Alan Kurdi, a three year old boy who drowned on september 2nd 2015 in the mediterranean sea, while fleeing civil war in Syria. Who was later coined the Little Syrian Boy. Alan, We still remember your name.
Bloodshed and horror, Syria is a disaster Peace and aid, nothing could come faster Mothers and fathers can only cope Brothers and sisters can only hope
Missing   I’ve got it all planned out, you’ll see. I’ve hired someone to do the missing for me. I’ve become impatient and salty.
Fob!  “Fresh off the boat!”,
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